


A Chill in the Air

by cathouse_mary



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Established Relationship, Flirting, Friendship, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathouse_mary/pseuds/cathouse_mary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are chilly for Alan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Chill in the Air

Alan was getting Looks. 

Pouty looks. Petulant looks. Angry looks. Disappointed looks. Sniffy looks. On one occasion, there had been a flying teacup. No matter where he went in the division’s headquarters, there was a woman who had her nose out of joint with Alan Humphries. 

The cafeteria. The elevator. Holding a door was enough to get him a curt thank-you, as cold as yesterday’s porridge. General Affairs was a particular trial. He couldn’t get a document out of Secretarial if he’d presented the paperwork drawn in his blood. Now granted, he was a junior and as a junior came up for a fair amount of guff, but this was beyond guff. He’s rather stand a double watch at Bedlam at this point than have to guess which women were or were not angry with him for whatever it was that he’d done or not done. 

The rest of the division seemed to regard it with greater or lesser degrees of amusement. Some of the seniors took delight in sending the junior into the lioness’ den, and chortling at the outcome. 

“Oi, Alan. I’m going for some tea - with me?” Eric leaned around the partition. “They were putting on bannocks and broth. Good to warm up before we start the watch.”

“Er. I brought something from home.” Stale crumpets that had been in the breadbox but were not mouldy, some jam of indeterminate origin. “And I have some more paperwork to finish up.”

And then take to Secretarial. Joy.

Eric made a grumpy noise, then reached over and reeled Alan in by his tie.

“You’re peaky.” Eric felt his neck, his forehead. “Sweaty, too. You’ve got the damps, Alan.”

Along with ‘unbalanced humours,’ and ‘miasma,’ the ‘damps’ was Eric’s go-to diagnosis, and generally ended with a dose of Dr. John Dee’s Universal Physick in someone who was not Eric. 

“I’m fine!” 

“Open your mouth. I need to see if your tongue’s coated.”

“It’s not. I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”

“I’ll warm up the Dee’s.”

Bluff called. “… let me get my coat.”

Eric put the Dee’s in the pocket of his pea coat. “Just in case.”

The walk through the halls was tough. He could have hung meat in the elevator, but the smiles directed at Eric were warm and familiar, and Eric took it with his accustomed nonchalant demeanor. Things rolled off his mentor/partner… and lover… like water off a duck’s back. There were times when Alan worried that someday he might be one of them. 

The cafeteria was starting to fill with morning tea-breakers, and it was not Alan’s imagination that the hum of conversation dipped when they walked in. 

Grown man. Reaper. Man up! Have a pair, Alan!

Eric snagged two trays, some utensils and held a place in line while Alan checked their coats. “They’ve got that apple tart you like, Alan.”

It was gone by the time they got there. Alan gritted his teeth. It was tea. All he had to do was get through it.

“The broth and bannocks sound fine, Eric.” 

Eric paused, looking over the pastries and selected one, placing it on his tray. “Boston cream pie. Never had that before. Want one?”

It did look delicious - vanilla custard between layers of sponge cake and topped with a chocolate glaze. Before he could open his mouth, one of the technicians from Glasses nicked it. 

“Hm. Seems popular.” Eric transferred his slice to Alan’s tray and selected gingerbread for himself. “I’ll get another bit later.”

Getting through the line was an exercise in manning up. If there was something Alan was interested in, it disappeared. If Eric so much as glanced at some tidbit, it all but landed on the tray. Cool. Water off a duck’s back. By the time Eric picked a booth and they settled in across from one another, Alan’s jaw ached from gritting his teeth.

“You’re still peaky, Alan.” Eric cut into his gingerbread. “Tuck in.”

“I’m not very hungry.” His stomach was as sour and knotted. “You can have the Boston gateau.”

Eric made short work of his sweet, pouring the cream on lavishly. “Alan, if you want pie, you should have some pie.”

“It’s all right, Eric.” Alan picked up the broth and sipped it - the heat would help his stomach. “You wanted the pie first.”

“No, it is bloody well not all right.” 

The tone made Alan’s gaze snap from a study of his cup to a wide-eyed look at Eric’s face. Eric was not talking about pie.

“Well, pie. Um. You like pie, Eric. I’ve never wanted to get between you and pie.” Alan had not placed any preconditions on Eric. “I mean, you’ve always liked pie, and just because you like gingerbread doesn’t mean you should not get pie when you want pie.”

Eric actually put his forehead on the table for a moment, then raised up and put his chin in his hand. ”Right. Me and pie. Leviathan’s brimstone-shitting arsehole, Alan. You know I’m no bloody good with metaphors. If I wanted pie, I’d get pie. I don’t want pie.”

“What I mean is that I don’t want to put preconditions on you and pie.”

“But the… all right. Fuck the pie.” Eric pointed his fork at Alan. “You never made it a precondition that I give up the tomcatting. I did that myself. Me. With you. If I wanted that, I could be up to my eyeballs in it. I don’t.”

Alan’s jaw wanted to drop. “But-“

“Moreover, Alan, I wouldn't want to be with anyone who would treat you shabby because I’m with you and not with them.” Eric took out his gingerbread in three terse bites. “ Wouldn't want to be with someone who’d rather see me miserable without you than happy with you. There’s nothing to appeal to me in someone that small. So - eat your Boston gateau.”

The cafeteria was so quiet that Alan could hear cheese toasties on the grill. He closed his mouth, turned his tray around, and slid around to Eric’s side. “Budge up, Eric.”

Eric budged up. Alan picked up his fork and cut into the shiny chocolate glaze. The sponge cake compressed in his mouth, the sweet vanilla of the custard swamping his tongue. “Mmmmgood.”

Eric smiled, wide and warm. “Could I get a bit of that?”

That about the sweet and about something else - Alan felt himself flush. Eric was unabashed about his desires and always had been. “Of course.”

Alan cut into the gateau again, and offered the bite. Eric never took his eyes off Alan as he engulfed the bite and…

“You’re blushing, Alan.”

“You did something naughty to the fork.”

“Tribute to the custard. I wanted every last drop.” A bite for him, a bite for Eric until the gateau was gone.

“You’re voracious, Eric.” 

“Am not. I’m Scottish, Alan.” Eric slid an arm around him, and the warmth Alan felt was a very nice combination of tenderness and the need to get out of his kit. 

“Yes, Senior.” Alan’s lips twitched as he picked up his cuppa. “I do have some Scot in me, you know?”

“Do you now, Alan?” Eric took a swallow of his own. 

“I just don’t have the Scot in me as often as I’d like.”

Eric laughed out loud, squeezing Alan closer. “Well, I think we can change that…”  
~  
End


End file.
